Some of Us Had Threatened Our Friend Sherlock
by JezebelGoldstone
Summary: Some of us had been threatening our friend Sherlock for a long time, because of the way he'd been behaving. Sherlock argued that just because he had gone too far- - - he did not deny that he had gone too far- - - didn't mean he should be subjected to hanging. Rated for dark, dark humor.


**Some of Us Had Been Threatening Our Friend Sherlock**

Edited by Jezebel Goldstone

**Disclaimer (because even less of this story belongs to me than a normal fanfiction):** All characters belong to Sir A C Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and their respective actors. Story belongs to Donald Barthelme.

**Genre:** Humor, Dark, Drama

**Rating:** T (for dark humor and disturbing themes)

**Triggers/Warnings:** Dark humor, cold-blooded and premeditated murder, hanging, etc.

**Author's Note:** I edited this story. That's it. I took an original story by the wonderful Donald Barthelme, changed the names of all the characters, and added a few sentences to get their personalities right. That's it. In all, I probably contributed less than a hundred words to the below. I also cut the paragraphs up, which is a real shame, because the flow of the original story is fantastic. . . but unfortunately, the paragraphs are simply too long to be posted as they are. The original story by Donald Barthelme, _Some of Us Had Been Threatening Our Friend Colby_, can be found here: www dot jessamyn dot com/ barth/ colby dot html. PLEASE read it; it's wonderful.

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Some of us had been threatening our friend Sherlock for a long time, because of the way he had been behaving. And now he'd gone too far, so we decided to hang him. Sherlock argued that just because he had gone too far (he did not deny that he had gone too far) did not mean that he should be subjected to hanging. Going too far, he said, was something everybody did sometimes. For example, he said, turning to me, that time when you, John- - - But we didn't pay much attention to this argument. We asked him what sort of music he would like played at the hanging. He said he'd think about it but it would take him a while to decide.

I pointed out that we'd have to know soon, because Mycroft, who being a Holmes has a natural flair for music (bastard), would have to hire and rehearse the musicians and he couldn't begin until he knew what the music was going to be. Sherlock said he'd always been fond of Ives's Fourth Symphony. Mycroft said that this was a 'delaying tactic' and that everybody ('everybody' here meaning 'everyone as cultured as the Holmses, and not necessarily including any uncouth Watsons who shall remain unnamed') knew that the Ives was almost impossible to perform and would involve weeks of rehearsal, and that the size of the orchestra and chorus would put us way over the music budget. "Be reasonable," I said to Sherlock. Sherlock said he'd try to think of something a little less exacting.

Lestrade was worried about the wording of the invitations. What if one of them fell into the hands of his lawman cohorts? Hanging Sherlock, he explained to us, was against the law, and if the authorities learned in advance what the plan was they would almost certainly come in and try to mess everything up. That is, unless the authorities who found out were Donovan and Anderson, in which case they were likely to cheer us on. However, having them in on the plan, I felt, would add a certain air of mockery to the whole thing, and surely my own beloved Sherlock deserved better than that. I said that although hanging Sherlock was undoubtedly against the law, we had a perfect _moral_ right to do so because he was _our_ friend and _my_ boyfriend, _belonged_ to us in various important senses, and he had after all gone too far. We agreed that the invitations would be worded in such a way that the person invited could not know for sure what he was being invited to.

We decided to refer to the event as "An Event Involving Mr. Sherlock Holmes." A handsome script was selected from a catalogue and we picked a cream-colored paper. Mrs. Hudson said she'd see to having the invitations printed, and wondered whether we should serve drinks. Sherlock said he thought drinks would be nice but was worried about the expense. We told him kindly that the expense didn't matter, that we were after all his dear friends and if a group of his dear friends couldn't get together and do the thing with a little bit of éclat, why, what was the world coming to? (Mycroft tried to answer this, but I immediately pointed out that this was a rhetorical question and he closed his mouth with a snap.) Sherlock asked if he would be able to have drinks, too, before the event. We said, "Certainly."

The next item of business was the gibbet. None of us knew too much about gibbet design, but Molly, who dreams of being an architect in her spare time, said she'd look it up in old books and draw the plans. The important thing, as far as she recollected from the frankly appalling number of period romances she'd read, was that the trapdoor function perfectly. She said that just roughly, counting labour and materials, it shouldn't run us more than four hundred quid. "Good God!" Mycroft said. He said what was Molly figuring on, rosewood? No, just a good grade of pine, Molly said. Irene asked if unpainted pine wouldn't look kind of "raw" and "unsexy," and Molly replied that she thought it could be stained a dark walnut, to match Sherlock's hair and contrast his skin nicely, without too much trouble.

I said that although I thought the whole thing ought to be done really well and all, I also thought for hundred quid for a gibbet, on top of the expense for the drinks, invitations, musicians, and everything, was a bit steep, and why didn't we just use a tree- - - a nice-looking oak, or something? I pointed out that since it was going to be a June hanging the trees would be in glorious leaf, Sherlock looked heavenly in the sunlight, and that not only would a tree add a kind of 'natural' feeling but it was also strictly traditional, especially in the West. Molly, who had been sketching gibbets on the backs of autopsy reports, reminded us that an outdoor hanging always had to contend with the threat of rain. Irene said she liked the idea of doing it outdoors, mostly because she had a voyeurism kink, and said that we could possibly select a riverbank. She also noted that we would have to hold it some distance from the city, which presented the problem of getting the guests, musicians, etc., to the site and then back to London.

At this point everybody looked at Harry, who (sometimes, when she's sober enough to help out Clara) runs a car-and-truck rental business. Harry said she thought she could round up enough limousines to take care of that end but that the drivers would have to be paid. The drivers, she pointed out, wouldn't be friends of Sherlock's and couldn't be expected to donate their services, anymore than the bartender or the musicians. She said that she and Clara had about ten limousines, which they used mostly for funerals, and that she could probably obtain another dozen by calling around to friends in the trade. She said also that if we did it outside, in the open air, we'd better figure on a tent or awning of some kind to cover at lest the principals and the orchestra, because if the hanging was being rained on she thought it would look kind of dismal.

As between gibbet and tree, I cut in, I had no particular preferences and really I though that the choice ought to be left up to Sherlock, since it was his hanging. Sherlock said that everybody went too far, sometimes, and weren't we being a little Draconian? Mycroft said rather sharply that all that had already been discussed, and which did he want, gibbet or tree? Sherlock asked if he could have a firing squad. No, Mycroft said, he could not. Mycroft said a firing squad would just be an ego trip for Sherlock, the blindfold and last-cigarette bit, and that Sherlock was in enough hot water already without trying to 'upstage' everyone with unnecessary theatrics. Sherlock said he was sorry (which astonished us all), he hadn't meant it that way, he'd take the tree. Molly crumpled up the gibbet sketches she'd been making in disgust.

Then the question of the hangman came up. Dimmock said did we really need a hangman? Because if we used a tree, the noose could be adjusted to the appropriate level and Sherlock could just jump off something- - - a chair or a stool or something. Besides, Dimmock said, he very much doubted if there were any free-lance hangmen wandering around the country, especially now that Moriarty's network had been so thoroughly destroyed. We all looked at Irene, and she said we'd probably have to fly one in from Spain or France or America, and even if we did that how could we know in advance that the person was a professional, a real hangman or -woman, and not just some money-hungry amateur who might bungle the job and shame us all, in front of everybody?

We all agreed then that Sherlock should just jump off something and that a chair was not what he should jump off of, because that would look, we felt, extremely tacky- - - some old kitchen chair sitting out there under our beautiful tree. Lestrade, who is quite modern in outlook and not afraid of innovation, proposed that Sherlock be standing on a large round rubber ball ten feet in diameter. This, he said, would afford a sufficient 'drop' and would also roll out of the way if Sherlock suddenly changed his mind after jumping off. He reminded us that by not using a regular hangman or -woman (he added that last after Irene and Mrs. Hudson glared at him) we were placing an awful lot of the responsibility for the success of the affair on Sherlock himself, and that although he was sure Sherlock would perform creditably and not disgrace his friends at the last minute, still, men have been known to get a little irresolute at times like that, and the ten-foot-round rubber ball, which could probably be fabricated rather cheaply, would insure a 'bang-up' production right down to the wire.

At the mention of 'wire' Henry, who had been silent all this time, suddenly spoke up and said he wondered if it wouldn't be better if we used wire instead of rope- - - more efficient and in the end kinder to Sherlock, he suggested. Sherlock began looking a little green, and I didn't blame him, because there is something extremely distasteful in thinking about being hanged with wire instead of rope- - - it gives you a sort of revulsion, when you think about it.

I thought it was really quite unpleasant of Henry to be sitting there talking about wire, just when we had solved the problem of what Sherlock was going to jump off of so neatly, with Lestrade's idea about the rubber ball, so I hastily said that wire was out of the question, because it would injure the tree- - - cut into the branch it was tied to when Sherlock's full weight hit it- - - and that in these days of increased respect for the environment, we didn't want that, did we? Sherlock gave me a grateful look, and the meeting broke up. Everything went off very smoothly on the day of the event (the music Sherlock finally picked was standard stuff, Elgar, and it was played very well by Mycroft and his boys). It didn't rain, the event was well-attended, and we didn't run out of Scotch, or anything. The ten-foot rubber ball had been painted a deep green and blended in well with the bucolic setting, and Sherlock did, indeed, look heavenly in the sunlight. The two things I remember best about the whole episode are the grateful look Sherlock gave me when I said what I said about the wire, and the fact that nobody has ever gone too far again.

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**Author's Note:** Look directly below this. There is a review box. Please, please, please, put a word or two in there ("Pointless," "Really? Barthelme?," whatever), and submit. Reviews are love, and equate to more writing. :)


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